


Obsession or love? The Beast must die.

by Kakashisith



Series: The life and love of Winnetou [3]
Category: Winnetou - Karl May
Genre: Blood and Injury, Boys In Love, Established Relationship, F/M, Fights, Friends to Lovers, Hand Jobs, Head Injury, M/M, Memory Loss, Minor Violence, Native American Character(s), Reunion Sex, Reunions
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-06-26
Updated: 2020-09-30
Packaged: 2021-03-04 03:47:26
Rating: Not Rated
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 5
Words: 6,500
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/24927184
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Kakashisith/pseuds/Kakashisith
Summary: When Old Firehand and his wife Ribanna (Winnetou loved her) get in trouble with Tim Finnetey aka Parranoh, and they run into a young man named Charlie.https://www.karl-may-wiki.de/index.php/Parranoh
Relationships: Old Firehand/Ribanna, Old Shatterhand/Winnetou
Series: The life and love of Winnetou [3]
Series URL: https://archiveofourown.org/series/1786957
Comments: 4
Kudos: 13





	1. Chapter 1

"I`ll let you leave, if you leave Ribanna here!" declared Parranoh, standing infront of Old Firehand and his wife.  
"Never!"  
"Don`t be stubborn,"Parranoh walked back and forth in his basement, where he kept both captives. "You took her from me. I am friendly enough to forgive!"  
Old Firehand, tied up next to his unconscious wife, didn`t answer. He was angry and helpless.  
"Got nothing to say?"  
Parranoh stormed out of the door and closed it with huge kick.  
Old Firehand sighed deeply. *If only Winnetou was here to help us!* he thought.*This situation is bad...*  
After moving his hands about half an hour or so, he managed to free his hands from the ropes. Next, he begun to tie Ribanna free. She had regained her conscious and was scared.  
Now both prisoners had time to look around in the basement. The basement was more of a bunker, all concrete and no personality. Near the ceiling were long low windows, no wider than the slits in a castle turret but lying on their sides. Without any circulation of air the stagnant aroma made it dungeonesque and the unsoftened echo of Ribanna's soft feet brought on a claustrophobic feeling.  
"I am scared."she whispered, pressing her gentle frame against Old Firehand.  
The man touched her beautiful, black hair. "This Parranoh is Savage as a Meat Axe, but we must find a way to leave this place."  
"Why doesn`t he just leave us alone?!"  
"He`s obsessed."sighed the Westman, looking around in the small cellar to find any way to escape.  
He moved the locked door to find out, that it was possible to break through. So, he started to work with it.  
"When we get outta here, weve got a long slipe to go. Many,many miles."  
The beautiful Assiniboin woman loked him in the eye. "I want to go home."  
The Westman touched her hair and scull. "How`s your head?"  
Ribanna shook her shoulders. "Hurts a bit. What about your wrists?"  
"I`m okay." the Westman smiled. "Now let`s try to open that damn door."  
Old Firehand shook the handle heavily for a while, the door wasn`t locked, but thrown shut and the door itself was quite heavy. He pressed his shoulder against the door and tried to push it open. Slowly, very slowly it seemed, that he was succeeding.  
After struggling awhile, both Ribanna and Old Firehand were ready to leave their prison.  
It had rained some hours ago, the air was still fresh. The soil was so damp that the worms had surfaced to breathe and the crows fluttered over the grass with their inky wings, each of them eating at the sudden buffet.  
Ribanna grabbed the man`s hand. "Let`s go, quickly!"

A gust of dry wind winds through the maze of ancient houses where windows have long shattered in the weakness of their structures and rotting boards, some broken, others hanging try to cover the empty eyes of every abandoned home. Doors hang on the few threads of their hinges and groan with pain at every sway. Weeds socialize across the cracking sand of every road, gathering and laughing at the lone rider as they try to weave around the catching fingers with every step. A lonely wearing leather clothes was slowly riding with his horse through this abandoned town. He seemingly didn`t notice anything around him, but under his cowboy hat his eyes moved to check his surroundings.  
Suddenly, his horse neighed nervously.  
"What`s wrong, Hatatitla?" the young man asked, trying to calm the beautiful creature down a bit.  
He had tousled dark blond hair, which was thick and lustrous. His eyes were a mesmerising deep ocean blue, flecks of silvery light performed ballets throughout. His face was strong and defined, his features molded from granite. He had dark eye brows, which sloped downwards in a serious expression. His usually playful smile had drawn into a hard line across his face. Something in Hatatitla`s behaviour told him, that he wasn`t alone in this area.  
He wasn`t sure, to which tribe this area belonged, Apaches or Oglalas or someone totally different.  
Whatever the case was, the man had to be careful.  
He unmounted Hatatitla and quietly sneaked around an abandones house, because he`d seen tracks in the sand. Then, he peeked inside, after slowly opening the creaking door.  
The grim and gloomy building was the worst excuse for a house he'd ever seen, it was more like a a long-abandoned prison or insane asylum rather than a once glamorous house. The doors and windows were covered with a thick layer dust that looked like it has been un touched for years.  
In the corner he saw a young native woman, who looked up at him, fear shadowing all her features. Her eyes were as wide as if someone was coming to deliver the fatal blow. Yet what she saw, no-one else could see. Trapped in her own psychosis, a living nightmare for one, tailor made by her own brain to play on her deepest fears.  
The blond man cocked thoughtfully his head; he didn`t know if the woman could understand English and German or not. Hell, he even didn`t know, what Native Amrican tribe she was from!  
"Don`t be afraid..."the young Westman tried and slowly reached his hand towards her. "I am not going to hurt you..."  
Behind him came a low voice. "I`d suggest you don`t touch her!"  
The young man turned around and saw another man, with dark brows standing on the doorway, hands on his hips.  
"She is my wife and if you`re not looking sappy..."the man sighed. "Could you just help us hide from Oglalas for some time?"  
The young Westman nodded thoughtfully. "Are you sharp set?" he asked. "I may have some food with me."  
Just when he was about to leave the house, the older man stopped him. "You haven`t told me your name."  
"Charles. My friends and those close to me call me Charlie." with that, he was out from the door.  
After about 5 minutes he was back with some smoked pork and rice.  
The beautiful woman had stood up and was standing next to the older man.  
The blond man simply stomped in, put the goods to the old and creaky table and fixed his eyes on the couple. "So, what`s your tear squeezer?" he asked.  
The older man sighed and locked eyes with the native woman. The woman nodded.  
"For a man who`s looking like a toff, you have awful lot of questions. Long story short- me and my beloved Ribanna here got kidnapped by a man named Tim Finnetey. I swear he He can’t tell skunks from house cats."  
"Tim Finnetey? Never heard of him..."  
"Yeah well, he`s the white chief of Oglalas and wants Ribanna for himself. I wish I had my canister with me!"  
Then he turned to his young helper again. "You should get your horse hidden, chap!"  
The young blond nodded and whistled once, then twice. The beautiful horse got Old Firehand`s eye. It wasn`t an ordinary horse, it was given or stolen by Apaches.  
The young man, Charlie, quieted the horse and let his long fingers move over the horse`s head and ears. "Easy there, Hatatitla."he murmured.  
The older man looked att him, but didn`t say anything. At first. But after having a bit food he shared with Ribanna, he just had to ask it. "Sir, how did you get this horse?"  
"My best friend gave it to me as a present. Why?"  
"Is your friend in a tribe, Sioux or...Apache perhaps?"  
"Does it matter?" Charlie rolled his blue eyes.  
"I dunno."  
"I should Get Shed of any tracks before the sun sets." Charlie shrugged himself. He was feeling suddenly cold and uneasy, like something...almost unavoidable was closing in.  
"You`re Gritty."the older man wanted to stop him. "But what, if you get caught?"  
"I hold off...whoever they are and you both should have a high tail."  
"Are you heeled?"  
Charlie nodded. Now Old Firehand could see 2 rifles attached to the horse.  
"My friend Henry in St. Louis made them for me."  
Charlie went out, into the growing twilight.

He was almost done with getting rid of the trail when there was a rustle in the rhododendron cluster. It wasn’t light enough to be a bird. There’s someone in there who didn’t mean to make that noise. Oglalas? Already?  
The chance of them knowing he`s there is next to zero. He just had to clean the trails, put his gloves back on and go.  
There was that sound, again...  
Old Shatterhand moved slowly closer, until he saw a dark figure. He wanted to attack or see, whoever it was, but before he could do that the man turned himself so he was face to face against him...  
"Mein Bruder!"  
"Mein Bruder!!"  
Winnetou hugged Old Shatterhand tightly, so tightly that the blonde man couldn`t breathe. Old Shatterhand let out a gently sigh and relaxed in Winnetou`s arms.  
"What is my bloodbrother doing in Oglala`s territory?" asked Winnetou.  
"I found two people, who seemed to need my help."  
"Really?"  
"Ja. You arrived in perfect time."  
Side by side they went to where Old Shatterhand had left the older Westman and his Assiniboin wife. Both made big eyes, when they saw Winnetou. Their surprise continued, when they saw the man known as Charlie talking to the Apache chief as one of his friends.  
"Has my friend Winnetou forgotten his friend`s voice?" asked the older Westman.  
Winnetou hugged him tightly. "How could I forget Old Firehand!"  
Old Firehand turned his gaze back to the young blond man. "You seem to know Winnetou quite well. Are you old friends?"  
Before the younger man could open his mouth, Winnetou answered instead. "Yes, he`s my friend and bloodbrother."  
"Bloodbrother? Wait....then he must be..."  
"Old Shatterhand, who`s hit brings every man down."  
"Dang!" swore Old Firehand." I knew you weren`t a greenhorn! My wrists hurt like the dickens.”He massaged his hands and wrists, which had rope marks on them.  



	2. Chapter 2

"So, what`s the plan?" asked Old Firehand.  
Winnetou shook his shoulders. Then he looked at his bloodbrother, who was standing near a window and peeked out.  
"I`m sure, that Charlih has some ideas."  
Old Shatterhand turned his head to that. Winnetou`s brown eyes met his, the young Westman had to turn his head away to hide his blushing.  
"I`m not sure, that I got something in my head right now." he answered quietly."But we should leave next day, if we don`t want to get caught."

Morning came, as mornings tend to do.  
Old Shatterhand woke slowly. Drowsy and sleepy, he stretched slightly under the dusty blankets and fur. Mind so fuzzy with pleasant sleep and good dreams, he accepted the fact someone was sprawled over the top of him with a dreamy smile. He was still too tired to grapple with reality. He let himself enjoy the pleasant weight of someone curled up on top of him.  
Slowly, he opened his eyes. His sleep confused eyes fell upon Winnetou.  
"Mein Bruder?" He looked steadily at the young Apache, who was laying half-across his body, eyes open.  
"I'm sorry," Winnetoy blurted. "I didn't mean to wake you."  
Old Shatterhand frowned, not understanding. "You woke me?" he asked, confused.  
Winnetou fought with himself, mouth bubbling nonsense as he tried to sort his thoughts. `I, ah, that is, what I...' The young Westman watched confusedly as Winnetou's cheeks went red, as much as his bronze skin allowed, then he seemed to make an effort to collect himself. "I've been awake awhile," The Apache got out. Old Shatterhand looked at him curiously, still not fully understanding. "I... you looked so comfortable and, well, relaxed. I... you were fast asleep."  
He surrounded him, Old Shatterhand surrounded him and he felt small in his embrace, like a child.  
The hesitating hand on his back swept up and Old Shatterhand felt Winnetou`s fingers on his cheek, tracing up the side of his nose, under his eyes. He swallowed, stilling the stir in his belly, and stroked the Apache`s soft black hair.  
The young blond man wiggled his hips and Winnetou`s hands on his waist pulled him closer, lining their shafts together between them. They both began to fill. Winnetou`s gentle hands slid down, his fingers reaching around Old Shatterhand`s buttocks, inches from the cleft between.  
It was not pain he feared. Old Shatterhand did not like penetration. He did not like the idea of thick flesh pushing inside him.  
He gasped for breath.  
"Shh."  
Winnetou was lying back, pulling his bloodbrother to lie atop him but he couldn't, he had to go. Old Shatterhand resisted but his strong arms enfolded him to his chest.  
"Is my brother alright?" Winnetou asked.  
Old Shatterhand blinked. He was familiar with this tone. He knew Winnetou used it when he knew there's something wrong.  
Winnetou cocked his head, trying to catch his brother`s emotions. His arms were stiff, dancing the line between pushing the Apache away and drawing him closer. Winnetou`s arms were loose and holding his hips to prevent him from moving one centimeter away. The Apache looked up to Old Shatterhand`s face, asking for leave to do as they both wish.  
Winnetou`s hand moved between his legs, pushing them wider.  
Old Shatterhand`s dark blonde head rolled back and forth on the fur, alternatingly hiding his face and laying it bare to the Apache`s gaze. His eyes remained closed.  
"Stop. No, my brother, please...I can't... Nein! Don't!" Whatever else he was going to say is cut off by the gasping of his orgasm.  
Winnetou smiled, he liked to see how beautiful Old Shatterhand was, when he was coming. Every muscle clearly defined beneath his white skin held tense an eternal moment, then relaxed completely, all at once at rest.  
"Why....did you do that?" asked the young white man.  
"I felt like I wanted to."was the answer. "You are so beautiful like this!"  
Old Shatterhand blushed again. He felt kida ashamed for coming so fast, then again it felt good.  
Winnetou`s eyes narrowed. "We must help Old Firehand and Ribanna back to Assiniboin`s territory."  
Old Shatterhand nodded. He tried to get up, but his feet were still a bit weak.

Parranoh was furious. "Prisoners are gone! Search them all the Caboose, especially the woman!"  
Talako, a young Oglala, looked around. "Chief, it seems that they went towards the abandoned town."  
"How far is this place?" ordered Parranoh.  
"2 days from here or a bit less."  
"But?"  
"But it`s close to the Sierra de la Espuma. Not a good place."  
"What do you mean?" Parranoh got angry, he was in no mood to wait.  
"Well, there is supposedly entrance to hell, so Apaches believe and people go missing there."  
"Let`s go then!" ordered Parranoh, grabbing his rifle and shotguns.

Old Firehand entered the abandoned mine first. Old Shatterhand hesitated briefly, he had a not-so-good feeling about this place.  
With the candlelight beam on the old tracks they walk down into the mine that hasn't had the echo of footsteps within it for centuries. There was a mustiness, a sudden damp coldness and the natural light was all choked up behind them like ale behind a cork.  
"You sure, it`s safe here?" asked Ribanna, covering her shoulders.  
"Last time I was here, nothing bad happened."Old Firehand put his arm around her waist.  
Old walls were usually covered in moss and ivy around here, but not in the old abandoned mine. No light means no plants. Instead the old brick was just damp and crumbly.  
Whatever the temperature outside it was cool down there, whatever the weather outside it was damp down there, it was a world unto itself.  
Old Shatterhand entered the mine right after Winnetou.  
In the old abandoned mine he felt like he was walking in the hollow bones of mother earth. Old Shatterhand fell like he was returning to her core, rejoining with the soil his birth parted him from. He knew that in a few short hours he would safely turn around and return to the life above the worms and the beetles, but not yet, not yet. Above was rock, as was below, and for now he liked it that way.  
The bad feeling was gone somewhere, into the depths of his mind, but not entirely gone.  
Winnetou noticed his behavior and stopped. "Is my brother feeling well?"  
Old Shatterhand shook his head so his blond hair flew around his face. "I... I don`t know..."  



	3. Chapter 3

The young blond Westman came to consciousness in the middle of the hot and sandy desert.  
It was breathtakingly hot. The ground smoldered and sent up a disorientating haze. Even the birds were silent and the grass stood still as if too hot to move.  
The young man felt something sticky in his hair, also a bit of pain. He touched his hair and pulled the hand back- it was bloody. His head had been injured, but he couldn`t remember it. In fact, he didn`t remember anything at all. Who was he?  
What had happened? Where was he?  
Heat rained down on himm like the breath of hell. The scorched sand shimmered in the intense white rays of the sun. The sun's broiling ray made him felt like he was being cooked whilst alive and "kicking".  
His only thought was to get to the shadows and find some shelter. Maybe then, later, he would find out, what had happened.  
He looked around and saw a pistol covered with bloody stains not far away from him. Without a second thought he picked it up.  
He touched his lips, then his nose. They hurt.His face was covered in blood, so much could he tell...His mangled lip and obviously broken nose were caked in dried blood, congealed and cracked. The now browning blood had drizzled down his face like so much rain down a window pane.  
He was pretty beaten up...or had it been a fall? He somehow remembered falling from somewhere high.... but nothing else.  
But how?  
He felt pain in his arm and had to check it. A deep wound was sliced in the flesh of his upper right arm. It was heavily oozing out blood and there's a bluish-purple bruise forming around it. The young man lightly pressed his index finger against the center of the cut and sucked in a sharp breath as the pain spirals all across his body. Colorful spots contour the sides of his eyes and he had to bite his lip from the pain of it all.  
*My head...*he thought, moving slowly forward. Into the unknown. He needed to stop the bleeding, or else it would be life-threatening.  
He ripped his blue shirt apart and tied it around his arm, to slow down the bleeding. Finished with patching himself up, he looked around. Nothing, just rocks and sand and heat.  
He needed to hide from the blazing sun and think, what to do next. Not far from him, there was an old house.  
"Perfect,"the young Westman said to himself,"just a place I need to get some rest and to get my brain together."  
His head was still hurting, like the rest of his body. Luckily, there were no broken bones or dislocated joints.  
It was easy to say that abandoned houses tend to creak, not in the creepy horror movie kind of a way, generally speaking, but more of in the "oh shit, I should probably get out of here before this thing collapses on me" kind of a way. This was a house that had you hesitant to even step through the doorway.  
That said, he stepped through anyway, ignoring the stupid creaking. It wasn't collapsing any time soon, and, if it did, he was going to survive.  
He stopped when he came to a collapsed doorway. Wooden planks barred him from entering, still there from when the northern side of the house had fallen on itself. The boards were cracked and splintery, enough that he could tell it was recent.  
The hallway floor was wooden and creaky with a brown and green pattered runner going down the middle leading me to the front door and the staircase. The front door was a double door with stained glass windows .To the right of it was a little wooden table with a clear glass vase with dead flowers drooping from it. The house felt unnaturally still, and the only sound he could hear was his own breathing, and the creak beneath his feet with each and every step.  
He felt terribly tired, so he decided to have some rest.

When he awoke, everything was strange and unfamiliar. A native man, possibly a Sioux, was sitting in front of him, face curious.  
"That`s a nasty wound you got there, man." he smiled at the young man.  
"Where am I?" the young blond man asked. His head hurt and he felt pain on his side.  
"What do you remember?" the man asked, using cloth to clean bright red blood flowing steadily on the white man`s head.  
The sight of his own blood made the white man feel sick from his stomach; he`d always hated the smell of blood somehow. He thought, that he wasn`t that hurt.  
Thinking hard, the young white man raised his blue eyes. "I don`t remember much... only falling down from somewhere high..."  
"Good. Go on...What`s your name?"  
"My name is... I`m..."  
"You can`t remember your name?" the native man cocked his head. "You must`ve lost your memory. I can`t let you stay here alone." he stood up. "You`re coming with me!"  
The white man nodded. Then he looked at the native man again. "What`s your name?"  
" Cuauhtemoc- One, Who Falls Like an Eagle."  
Again friendly nod. "Where are we going?"  
"To our camp. This is where I and other Sioux warriors live."  
The young man nodded thoughtfully. *If I only could remember at least something...*

After walking about half an hour or so, the terrain started to change and ahead was a forest. It had already started to go dark, so seeing a camp and fire made both men feel good.  
As the sun went down, the fire became bright and vivid, as though someone had shown a latern on it. The intensity and excitement of the flames was like they were dancing in the moonlight. A lake nearby had the reflection of a distant glow, like a bright sun on land. The colors were brilliant reds, oranges, and faint yellows.  
"Come, sit down." Cuauhtemoc invited him next to his Sioux warriors."Be our friend."  
The white man sat down, sighing in relief. "Thank you." he smiled.  
The night brought such a silence that the crackle of the campfire was all that could be heard, like a crazy natural music. The flames that licked at the wood and the red sparks both danced in the cool breeze. The young white man sat close on a mossy log, his face toasted warm and his back cold, mesmerized, relaxed. It was like the fire was charming his worries from them and sending them heaven bound along with the dark smoke.  
He felt safe and in ease.  
Cuauhtemoc was talking to his warriors and soon returned to him.   
"You need a name."  
The Westman agreed. "I wish to know, who I am, but as long as I don`t remember anything, you have every right to name me."  
"Hmm... I shall call you the Grey Rider. Howgh!"

This night the young man didn`t sleep well. Though his tent was comfortable, he was tired and had a good meal, he had nightmares.  
He saw a young Native man with deep, almost black eyes smiling at him. He reached his hand and then he was falling, falling...  
With a gasp, he woke. It was still night time, so he tried to get some sleep after all.


	4. Chapter 4

Next morning the Grey Rider, as he was now called, woke at sunrise.  
This morning’s sunrise was a breathtaking display of radiant colors. Bright streaks of red, pink, and orange slowly overcame the dark blue and purple of the twilight sky. The sky resembled a prism; all the colors blended perfectly into each other. The sun itself was just peeking out of the horizon, and its brilliant rays already shined brightly and began to warm the air. The young man stretched his shoulders and looked around.  
It was very peaceful, everyone except himself were still asleep.  
Like through the thick mist he remembered his nightmare. He wanted to know, who`d been the man in his dream...did he even exist?  
Maybe this all would solve the problem, what had happened to him and who he was. But then, maybe not.  
He simply sat next to his tent and looked around. Beautiful, peaceful area.  
Then he heard and somehow felt a presence near him. It was Cuauhtemoc. The young white man smiled to him.  
Cuauhtemoc smiled back. "How is my young friend doing this morning? Starting to remember anything?"  
"I`m not sure, but I keep seeing a Native man, quite young, in my dreams. It feels like I should know him."  
"Maybe you and him were bonded, even blood brothers before something happened to you?" asked the chief.  
"Anything is possible." He turned his palm and saw a quite big, but healed scar.  
Cuauhtemoc nodded. "That`s what I was thinking."  
The young white man turned around. "So, what now? What are we going to do?"  
The chief seemed nervous, something was bothering his mind. "We got problems with Oglalas." he mentioned. "Their white chief is a bad and sinister man."  
"Oh?" the Grey Rider rised his head. "Any trouble?"  
"I do not know, but I need you to be safe. It might have something to do with your loss of memory, my friend. You cannot be harmed."

The canyon path was narrow and uncivilized. Plants grew in every which way, leaving minimal room for the path itself. The dirt road snaked around ancient, withering trees. There was a beauty to it - raw and barren - even with the grainy wind, yet amid the mosquito swarm no joy was felt.  
The chief seemed nervous, looking around again and again. The Grey Rider felt it too, like someone was watching him. He grabbed his gun tighter and rode the horse he`d been given next to Cuauhtemoc.  
"This is a bad place." he murmured.  
"I feel it too," the chief of Sioux` agreed. "We might get under the attack in no time..."  
Still, nothing happened. Silence. Only cicadas were making some sound.  
Then, Cuauhtemoc stopped. He raised his hand, so everyone could see it.  
Before him, inside the dust and sand, came a rider. It was a white man dressed like a Native, like an Oglala chief.  
Parrano`s mouth fell open, when he saw the white man he thought he`d killed, next to Cuauhtemoc. In that instant his skin became greyed, his mouth hung with his lips slightly parted and his eyes were as wide as they could stretch.  
*How can he still be alive?* Parranoh thought.* Why doesn`t he attack me? Doesn`t he recognize me?* He had nothing to protect him but empty words and his badge. They had always been good enough up until now but somehow he didn't think it was going to work this time.  
Cuauhtemoc`s eyes narrowed, when he saw Parranoh. "You wanted to talk to me, Tim Finnetey?" he asked dryly. "Let`s do it!"  
"Only you and me, leave everyone else behind,"insisted the white chief.  
"No. I take my friend Grey Rider with me."  
Parranoh wanted to disagree, but he had no choice.  
On that moment, the young white man had another flashback of memory. This man, dressed in leather, hair red-blond... where had he seen him?  
He tried to remember, it seemed important...Someone, something, a fight, a Native woman...  
"I remember you!" he looked at the man in front of him. "You kidnapped an Assiniboin woman... I cannot tell the name... I fought you, I fell..."  
Parranoh didn`t say anything, his face was unreadable, blank.  
Cuauhtemoc touched his shoulder. "Continue."  
*Dang! He`s getting his memory back. He starts to remember...*Parranoh wanted to turn around, but the man known to Cuauhtemoc as Grey Rider, Old Shatterhand, grabbed his wrist.  
"What did you do to my friends? Winnetou?"  
"Th....they managed to escape."  
Both Old Shatterhand and Cuauhtemoc shared a look. "You`ll answer for all the bad you`ve done to innocent people."declared the chief of Sioux`."Tie him up!"

"Now I remember everything." Old Shatterhand said, with relief in his voice. "I was helping my friends to escape from Parranoh and his men. We fought, I fell down...and you found me."  
"But Winnetou?"  
"We are blood brothers, just as you said."  
"I am happy, that you remember who you are, Old Shatterhand."  
They shook hands.  
"Without you I think I should be dead."  
Cuauhtemoc smiled. "I happened to be in the right time in the right place."  
"What are we going to do with Parranoh?" asked the Westman.  
"We need to summon the ones he`s mistreated. So everyone can have something to say."  
Old Shatterhand nodded in agreement. "Wise words."

It was already dark, when Old Shatterhand decided to have a walk around the Sioux` camp.   
The eerie darkness of that night would never escape his memory. He clearly remember the pitch-black curtain draped over the sky, and the twisted, warped shapes that the stars made against the blackness. The milky speckles twirled and danced along the sky in various patterns, tugging at the corners of his lips in a way that almost made him smile. It was hard to shove aside the worries corrupting his mind, but eventually, the Westman stopped walking over the soft sand below his feet and just... stopped thinking.   
He wasn`t alone. Somehow he felt someone standing not far from him...watching him.  
Winnetou stepped from the shadows, stealing his breath and the heat from his skin. Before Old Shatterhand could draw in the air his body needed he had melted into his form. He can feel Winnetou`s firm torso and the heart that beats within. His hands are folded around the white man`s back, drawing him in closer.  
"Charlih!"  
He was eating Old Shatterhand with his eyes, running his hand through his blond hair, as if he can't quite believe the Westman was not part of an almost forgotten dream. When Winnetou kissed him it's sweet, gentle, and it tastes of his tears.


	5. Chapter 5

"Shall my brother relax?" asked Winnetou, taking his hand. "I want you!" he sighed moments later.  
"I desire you as well,"Old Shatterhand finally answered deep from his heart.  
Their lips met again with more confidence and fire. Both men undressed quickly, then looked at each other. Another kiss, deeper, more like teeth and tongues.  
Old Shatterhand's mouth withdrew from Winnetou`s lips and quickly found their way to his chest where they marked his muscles and finally settled on a nipple. The white man suckled fiercely, his body temperature rising, and the Apache held his head firmly in place, moaning with each deep breath.  
"I've wanted this for so long," Old Shatterhand said, pulling away briefly.  
"Yes, Charlih. Take what you want from me."  
The young white man pulled back, hesitated. "Is this really what you want, my brother?"  
The Apache nodded eagerly. At last they were lying back in the tall grass, Old Shatterhand touching the taller man and kissing him fiercely. Their eyes met, and Old Shatterhand smiled at the intensity in the deep brown depths that stared back at him. He had never seen such desire in Winnetou before. The Apache chieftain, the man who was forever calm, forever patient, and in control was losing himself to the moment. And it pleased Old Shatterhand very much.  
Several minutes passed before Winnetou touched Old Shatterhand again. At first his left hand merely hovered over his blood brother's milky skin, running the length of him and touching him only with the slight movement of air between his hand and the Westman's body.  
The Westman made several passes up and down Winnetou's body and then, finally, his hand brushed against the hardening cock.  
Winnetou's breath caught, and before he could fully absorb this new sensation Old Shatterhand's lips were on his in a fierce kiss. The kiss deepened and became more hungry as the Westman grabbed the swollen cock into his hand and gently stroked it. His tongue and hand were all Winnetou could think about... breathe damn it!... tongue and hand... breathe!  
Then a second hand came into play and Old Shatterhand slid a finger underneath him to caress his anus. It was too much...  
"Wait," the Apache breathed out. "Please, wait."  
Old Shatterhand drew himself up on an elbow and looked with concerned eyes at the Apache. "What is it, Winnetou? Am I going too fast?"  
"I... I don't know," he said between short breaths.  
"I`ll take it slow...or do you want to be on top?"  
Winnetou closed his eyes for a moment. His breathing evened out almost immediately and he felt he could think straight again.  
"Much better now..."he sighed.  
They kissed again, slowly, gently. Lips just barely touching.  
"Do you want me, Charlih?" Obi-Wan asked,looking in the other`s deep blue eyes.  
"Yes, Winnetou."  
"You're not just doing this because I asked you?"  
A gentle smile answered this question. "No, my love. But I also would not be doing this if you did not want it."  
Old Shatterhand placed his hand over Winnetou's heart. "All I ever wanted, is here. I love you, Winnetou."And with a low chuckle he added, "I hope I won`t lose my memory again."  
Winnetou blushed. Then he pulled his blood brother down and kissed his neck.  
"Are you ready to begin again?"  
Winnetou nodded and smiled. He handed him a small bottle with scented oil.  
Old Shatterhand dipped his fingers in the bottle.  
"Spread your legs, love," he told to the young Apache.  
Winnetou swallowed and complied.  
The Westman touched the anus again, "Relax," and slipped in just one inch of one finger. Winnetou nearly jumped at the slight invasion, but managed to keep still. The finger slid deeper and stroked. A moan escaped Winnetou's lips, and a second finger was inserted. Their bodies pressed closer together and Old Shatterhand wrapped one leg over Winnetou's.  
"Yesss," the Apache moaned and pressed down onto the fingers and Old Shatterhand's palm."Bitte, mehr..."  
A third finger squeezed inside him. Motion stopped as Old Shatterhand carefully watched Winnetou's staggered breathing and the tension in Apache's legs. He waited until the legs fell open further and relaxed before he began to stroke in and out again.  
With the withdrawl of the fingers Winnetou lifted his head looked Old Shatterhand in the eyes.  
"We're really doing this?" he asked finally, not believing what was going to happen.  
"Yes, my Winnetou. If you still want to."  
"Definitely, yes... I just... it's so... It`s been a long time..."  
Old Shatterhand smiled."I know, love. I really missed you."  
Winnetou rolled on his stomach. "It`s better that way."  
The head of the large cock was pressed to Winnetou's readied opening. "I love you, Winnetou."  
"And I love you, Charlih."  
The cock pressed forward, the crown slipping beyond the first ring of tight muscles. The young Westman let out a satisfied groan. So good and this joining had just begun. Again forward, easing in one more thick inch.  
"So full," Winnetou writhed.  
"Too much? Zu viel?"  
"Nein, I need all of you," Winnetou said and experimentally squeezed his body around Old Shatterhand's cock. "More, please."  
The Westman shivered at the intimate touch, and lifted one of Winnetou's legs and pressed it into his chest."To open you further," he said, and slid in deeper.  
This time a loud moan escaped Winnetou's lips, and Old Shatterhand leaned down to kiss him tenderly. "More?"  
"Yes!" Winnetou moaned again."So gut..."  
When Old Shatterhand was finally fully inside Winnetou, he stopped to let the other man to get used with the feeling. He shuddered and felt warm all over from being inside his beloved Winnetou.  
"How are you?" he asked.  
"Fertig… Wanting you," the Apache breathed out.  
The Westman placed his hands firmly on Winnetou's hips and slowly pulled out as far as the crown. The movement got a sweet hiss from the Apache, and Old Shatterhand slowly pressed back inside. He repeated this slow, torturous pace for nearly a dozen strokes, until Winnetou began to thrust up harder into the thrusts.  
"Yes," he moaned back, pleased that Winnetou was enjoying the lovemaking.  
Legs entwined, hands massaged, nails dug, as Old Shatterhand's thick shaft began a relentless drive in and out of the pleasing tightness.  
Feeling his orgasm building in his balls, the young white man grabbed Winnetou's cock and began to stroke it in time with his thrusts. Rapid, deep thrusts that were soon to send both men spiraling into blissful completion.  
"Let...go...Winnetou..."Old Shatterhand moaned, eyes closed in total bliss. With Old Shatterhand's husky words of approval, the Apache gave into his body's need.  
The orgasm spouted from him in an almost painful stream as he arched off the ground and screamed out his blood brother`s name,"Charlih!!!!"  
The Westman couldn`t hold back any longer. Filling him, loving him to no end... He slumped onto the smaller man gasping for air. "Love you… Winnetou…"

When they woke up, the sun was already rising. Winnetou sighed happily and rested his head on Old Shatterhand`s shoulder.  
The Westman smiled at him.   
"Are Old Firehand and Ribanna okay?" he asked.  
"Yes,"smiled Winnetou. "We all managed to escape...what`s that?"  
Some gun shots could be heard not far from their spot.   
Winnetou stood up, got quickly dressed, Old Shatterhand followed him. When they arrived to Sioux` camp, they could see a dead white man.  
Cuauchtemoc cocked his head, when he saw Winnetou and Old Shatterhand together. "So you have found your blood brother?"  
The Westman nodded. "What happened? The shooting?"  
Cuauchtemoc looked at the dead body in the middle of the camp. "Tim Finnetey."his tone was angry." He tried to escape, my son had to shoot him down."  
"So, the Beast is dead."


End file.
